FILM REVIEW;Bad Taste in a Vile Story Doesn't Rule Out Fun

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The needle goes in. The floorboards open. And Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor), the acidly attractive hero of "Trainspotting," drifts into the druggy oblivion that this film depicts with such dead-on, calculating ingenuity. For better or worse, sometimes strictly for the sake of shock value, the stylish irreverence of "Trainspotting" mimics that drug high and delivers its own potent kick.

The young Scottish heroin addicts hurtling through "Trainspotting" commit every misdeed they can think of, in ways intended to leave straitlaced audiences aghast. Mugging a tourist who attends the Edinburgh Festival is only one of their milder crimes. Yet the perversely irresistible "Trainspotting" is itself geared to the tourist trade, since it keeps a safely voyeuristic distance from the real dangers that go with its subject matter. Instead, it rocks to a throbbing beat and trains its jaundiced eye on some of the most lovable lowlifes ever to skulk across a screen.

If this reckless British hit has attracted an ardent following and spun off everything short of its own ice cream flavor ("Trainspotting" has also been a popular novel and a success onstage), then the wicked charisma of its mordant junkies really does explain why. These characters are funny, sharp, well played and fiercely memorable, whether cavorting Beatle-like for the camera or delivering sardonic commentary on one another. As Renton describes one drug-dealing friend, "We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit."

At the heart of the "Trainspotting" phenomenon is a clever dissonance: the film's characters may be outlaws, but its directorial style is gleeful in slick, conventional ways. After their misanthropic first collaboration, "Shallow Grave," Danny Boyle (the director), John Hodge (the screenwriter) and Andrew Macdonald (the producer) return with a much more exultant film and turn inexcusable merriment into a large part of its appeal. Dark as its subject matter is, this film manages the incredible trick of remaining jubilant and fresh. And in the face of AIDS, crib death, drug overdose and staggeringly vile bathroom jokes, that is no small feat.

As the cheerfully outrageous "Trainspotting" unfolds, loosely adapted from the dialect-heavy novel by Irvine Welsh, it introduces a tart and unforgettable crew of miscreants. Renton's comrades include the bleached blond Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller), who does a sly Sean Connery imitation borrowed from Mr. Welsh's book, and the serenely vacant, goggle-eyed Spud (Ewen Bremner, who originated the Renton role on stage). Spud is the film's most comically hapless character, whether arriving for a job interview in speedy overdrive or embarrassing himself at a girlfriend's house in ways that cannot begin to be described here. Don't even ask.

Also in this circle is Tommy (Kevin McKidd), whose lapse into drug use is one of the film's few real plot developments. Then there's the electrifyingly dangerous Begbie, played with frightening intensity by Robert Carlyle (who could not seem more different from the gentle gay character he played in "Priest"). Scary and volatile, the short-fused Begbie rivets attention while also defining the limits of Renton's universe. Bounded on one side by the Thatcherite yuppie world into which Renton ventures briefly, it also stops at the psychotic extremes of Begbie's violent outbursts. Sooner or later, not even heroin will blind Renton to the bad-trip aspects of that behavior.

Episodic in structure but brisk and vigorous thanks to Mr. Boyle's buoyant direction, "Trainspotting" grapples repeatedly with Renton's problem of trying to kick heroin. In the sequence that stands as the film's biggest conversation piece, he finds himself diving into the Worst Toilet in Scotland (according to a printed caption) to retrieve drug suppositories he has lost. Compared with Mr. Welsh's stomach-turning written account, the film delivers what is practically the Martha Stewart version, though it will still have viewers gasping and laughing in disbelief. But what really makes the sequence work is the payoff that follows Renton's elaborate preparations and hideous misadventure. "And now I'm ready," he says, after all that.

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Beyond a string of entertaining anecdotes and a handful of horrifying ones (the film's nastiest jolts involve the death of a baby), "Trainspotting" doesn't have much narrative holding it together. Nor does it really have the dramatic range to cope with such wild extremes. Most of it sticks to the same moderate pitch, with entertainment value enhanced by Mr. Boyle's savvy use of wide angles, bright colors, attractively clean compositions and a dynamic pop score. Deadpan humor is another solid asset, whether in Mr. Boyle's pitilessly funny glimpse of his characters loathing Scotland's great outdoors or in the sight of three characters staring patiently at the blank space in front of them. This is the spot where the television set used to be, before somebody stole it.

Mr. McGregor underplays Renton to dry perfection without letting viewers lose sight of the character's appeal. Comic timing is everything here, and Mr. Boyle elicits disarmingly droll performances all around. (Mr. Bremner's cartoonish Spud is especially amusing.) Also on hand, for those brief moments when the characters find themselves more interested in sex than in drugs, are Kelly Macdonald and Shirley Henderson as Renton and Spud's mates. When the women visit the bathroom in a nightclub, the mural on the wall depicts Jodie Foster's child prostitute from "Taxi Driver." Within the context of "Trainspotting," that becomes a memento of much more innocent times.

Directed by Danny Boyle; written by John Hodge, based on a novel by Irvine Welsh; director of photography, Brian Tufano; edited by Masahiro Hirakubo; production designer, Kave Quinn; produced by Andrew Macdonald; released by Miramax Films. Running time: 94 minutes. This film is rated R.

A version of this review appears in print on July 19, 1996, on Page C00003 of the National edition with the headline: FILM REVIEW;Bad Taste in a Vile Story Doesn't Rule Out Fun. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe